In Lynn's midst is High Rock, on which we
  stand,
With all its varied view on every hand.
Here children come to while an hour away,
Who make of life a sunny holiday,
To hear the stories told of other days,
Of men whose deeds deserve our meed of praise.

Here come the aged, who, thro' smiles and tears,
Gaze out afar to bygone happy years,
Looking beyond, to sunsets in the west,
Hoping, yet dreaming, of the land of rest.

Here may the artist, when to art inclined,
Delight his eyes and inspiration find,
'Mid scenes, with varied hues so delicate,
He ne'er can equal-only imitate.

Here may the lover with his love repair,
See rays of sunshine gild her wavy hair,
Her cheeks grow redder and her eyes more
  bright;
So shall his heart be filled with love's delight,
While she, transfigured at his very side,
May name the day when she will be his bride.

Here may the poet wend his thoughtful way,
On nature's lap his dreamy head to lay,
There catch outpourings of her mighty soul
Which, in his song may down the ages roll,
Bearing his name, yet with this one desire-
The sad to cheer, the hopeless to inspire;
And tho', at times, perhaps misunderstood,
His highest wish for mankind's brotherhood.